


josh hoberman's special hallucinogenic hot wings challenge

by everlark



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Bodyswap, Gen, M/M, Other, like i'm talking undertones people, my love letter to margo and eliot's friendship, something that's been playing around in my head a while, very very light marqueliot if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 12:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19273186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everlark/pseuds/everlark
Summary: She was working up a good argument with Eliot – supposing he was in her body, because that’s how this magic bullshit is supposed to work, right? – when there was a groan from the bed. Agroanfrom thebed. Margo scrambled up to her knees so fast every single bone in Eliot’s legs somehow managed to bang painfully against the floor,butshe ignored that in favor of clutching the side of the bed with both hands and peeking over.See, the thing is, Eliot had been… distant lately. They hadn’t really talked much in the week since their failed trip to Fillory. Which is why she issosurprised to find the person in Eliot’s bed is none other than Quentin fucking Coldwater.or: the bodyswap au nobody asked for





	josh hoberman's special hallucinogenic hot wings challenge

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. So. This is my very first fic in this fandom after being like, the craziest fic reader you can imagine. From the moment I started The Magicians (you know, before they stabbed us in the back, buried us in the backyard, then stomped over our graves) I really loved Eliot and Margo's dynamic. So, it's mostly focused on them. Really though, I just wanted to write something, anything, to get me going and get me started on all the ideas I have about these characters. So, that being said, there is probably more to come! 
> 
> k, that's all, onwards u go!

Eliot screamed.

No wait,  _ Margo  _ screamed.

Actually – it’s more like Eliot screamed  _ because  _ Margo screamed  _ because _ for some reason when Margo opened her eyes this morning she realized that she wasn’t in her own bed, or her own room, or, as it turns out, her own  _ body. _

So. Eliot screamed.

She immediately reached up to put a hand on her – his – throat. There was a scoff forming at the back of said throat, but she couldn’t bring herself to release it because  _ what the fuck.  _ Also, it was offensively bright in the bedroom, and the beaming lights of sun were giving her a headache. Also, she noticed, finally looking down upon the body she seemed to be inhabiting – she was naked. Or, Eliot was naked. Eliot’s body, which for some reason she was now in, was naked. Whatever. You get the picture.

Margo fell out of bed. She hit the floor in an ungraceful pile of limbs and groaned. Luckily, in her shock tumble down she had managed to grasp the blanket around her waist. Not that she was one for modesty where Eliot was concerned, but the floor was fucking  _ cold  _ beneath her ass.

“ _ What the fuck,”  _ she hissed aloud. This was possibly worse than the Margolem situation. Mainly because this  _ definitely  _ did not have to do with any sort of magical STD and more than that, she hadn’t even done any questionable magical rituals in the past week, let alone the past 24 hours. Her head was pounding. Her mind was racing. She couldn’t find the strength to haul herself off of the floor right away, so she leaned back onto her hands and really let the mess of the situation sink in. You know, for the drama of it all. Also, Eliot’s body was a lot heavier than it looked and the energy it would take to somehow maneuver herself into a standing position right now was beyond her current abilities. Her head still hurt.

She was working up a good argument with Eliot – supposing he was in her body, because that’s how this magic bullshit is supposed to work, right? – when there was a groan from the bed. A  _ groan  _ from the  _ bed.  _ Margo scrambled up to her knees so fast every single bone in Eliot’s legs somehow managed to bang painfully against the floor,  _ but  _ she ignored that in favor of clutching the side of the bed with both hands and peeking over.

Eliot had been… distant lately. They hadn’t exactly been fighting, per se, since they don’t technically have the kind of relationship where fighting is even a thing, but they hadn’t exactly been  _ not  _ fighting either. Ever since his trauma bullshit with Mike the Knob Sucker, Eliot had changed. He was distant, constantly drugged or drunk or both, and also like, the World’s Biggest Asshole ™ , if Margo had anything to say about it. Which she did. To his face. Many times. But Eliot was the king of ignoring the problem until it went away, and when Margo was the specific problem at hand, well. 

Needless to say, they hadn’t really talked much in the week since their failed trip to Fillory. Which is why she is  _ so  _ surprised to find the person in Eliot’s bed is none other than Quentin fucking Coldwater.

“You  _ motherfucker _ ,” Margo whispers in astonishment. Honestly, she’s a little impressed. Not particularly impressed with Eliot, because this mess is only a recipe for disaster, seeing as how their last tryst went together (See Item: Emotional Bottle Bullshit) No, she’s impressed that Coldwater finally got his head out of his ass and noticed that Eliot’s been ridiculously pining after him since the moment he walked on campus. She has to hand it to her little nerd boy. She didn’t think he had it in him. 

Eliot, on the other hand, is in deep fucking trouble. Like, she knows they’re kind of technically not really fighting, but he could have at least told her _something._ A hint. A subtle wink here, a raised eyebrow there. Jeez, what does a girl have to do to get her best friend to spill the hottest motherfucking tea that he finally nailed the family bottom?

Apparently, she has to switch bodies with him under mysterious circumstances.

Which, actually, reminds her of her current situation. Margo sighs and rests her arms (Eliot’s arms, but you get it by now, right?) on the bed. This is definitely the weirdest situation she’s ever been in, and she’s including that unreal night she managed to both physically fist fight  _ and  _ fuck identical twins in Ibiza. 

The door of Eliot’s bedroom suddenly rattles loudly, and Margo startles into finally standing. She glances at Quentin, who’s beginning to stir with all the noise, and quickly grabs the first pair of pants she sees on the ground, along with the silk robe lying on a nearby chair, before grabbing for the door.

She opens it, and comes face to face with, well, herself.  _ Thank god. _

“Margo,” Margo says. No, wait, Eliot says. Margo says her own name, out of her own mouth, because it is in fact Eliot that is inside her body. Jesus. We get this, right? Everyone’s on board?

Margo rolls her eyes.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eliot, why didn’t you tell me you were banging Coldwater?” She smirks. Eliot, in Margo’s body, yanks her out of the room before closing the door firmly behind them. Now they’re just standing in the hall, but Margo’s pleased to notice that her Korean face masks really do a wonder on her morning skin. 

“What did you do.” He doesn’t even phrase it as a question. Eliot is so unexpressive, jeez, it’s like he doesn’t appreciate the humor in the situation  _ at all.  _ It’s not even a big deal. She scoffs, finally.

“What did  _ I  _ do? What did  _ you  _ do? I went to bed last night, normal, and woke up this morning six feet tall.” She stretches her arms out, presenting Eliot with his own body, one eyebrow raised. “Did you and Quentin get up to some weird sex magic last night?” She pauses, then smiles and leans down (leans  _ down,  _ like, she loves her cute little bod, but being Eliot has its dramatic advantages). “D’you wanna tell me about it?” She wiggles her brows suggestively.

“Oh my god, shut up about Quentin,” Eliot pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, then runs his hands erratically through the head of hair he involuntarily found himself having acquired this morning. “We have to fix this. If neither of us did this, then who did?”

“How the fuck would  _ I  _ know?”

“I don’t fucking know,  _ I’m  _ not the one that has a history of getting magical fucking STD’s.”

“That was  _ one time, asshole,”  _ Margo scoffs again. See, this is what she was talking about. How Eliot manages to get a nice lay and still have the proverbial stick up his ass is beyond her. She crosses her arms over her chest. “Low fucking blow. As if you were any help with that situation, by the way, what suddenly makes you able to help with this one?”

Eliot’s opening his mouth ( _ her  _ mouth, and damn, apparently her lip scrub has been working wonders, too) to retort when the door opens behind her. She spins around. It’s Quentin.

“Oh, uh, hey. You guys. What-what are you doing out here?” He’s put his clothes on, messy as they are, and his hair is in a small bun that Margo may or may not think actually looks really good on him. She’s still admiring this about him when she feels a sharp elbow dig into her side.

_ Oh shit.  _ Does Eliot like, expect her to reply, as  _ him?  _ She turns to look down (down, down, down it’s kind of fun being this tall) with wide eyes, a hard stare that he manages to return with her own face.  _ Christ.  _ She exhales forcefully from her nose.

“Oh, you know,” she says, “Just one of our many morning chats.” 

There’s a pregnant pause, in which Eliot doesn’t say anything, because he’s an asshole, Quentin doesn’t say anything, because he’s hopelessly awkward no matter the situation, and Margo doesn’t say anything, because she was hoping Eliot would decide to jump in with some sort of fucking explanation why his body isn’t in bed morning-glow cuddling the shit out of Coldwater, like he very well should be. Margo resists a full body eye-roll, and decides she has to handle this by herself.  _ Idiots. _

“Any way, don’t you have class to get to, hot stuff?” Lacking any better ideas, she grabs Eliot’s wrist and pulls him into the bedroom Quentin had just come out of. “Margo and I need to have morning tea. I’ll, uh, see you later,” She pauses, stands at the door, looks at Quentin’s confused expression, then just because she is  _ also  _ an asshole, she smacks him hard on the ass before firmly closing the door in his face.

Eliot looks unimpressed when she faces him. She smiles and crosses over to sit at the desk, pushing all the books off of the table before climbing on top and resting her feet on the chair.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, boo. It’s a nice ass, I couldn’t resist.” She shrugs.

“Look.” Eliot sighs. “We need to focus. We both didn’t do this, we don’t know who did, and only god knows the humiliation we will endure if people find out we were body swapped against our will as if we’re in some ridiculous will they/won’t they preteen  _ fanfiction. _ ”

Margo’s eyes widened. She hadn’t even considered what anyone else would think about this whole situation. They would never let her live it down. It would be worse than the Margolem, which she  _ knows  _ Todd keeps stored in his closet, the little freak. It would completely ruin both of their reputations as untouchable, super fabulous mega bitches.

“ _ Shit.”  _ She says, “You’re right. We’d be the meme of the century. We’d never be known for anything else.”

Eliot throws his hands up as if to say  _ duh, thank you, welcome to the party.  _ She stands up and begins pacing the length of the room while Eliot sits on the edge of the bed.

“So what do we do?” She asks, “We can’t go to Lipson, she  _ lives  _ off of this kind of shit.”

Eliot nods. “We have to act normal. Hopefully this is the kind of spell that wears off after a day or two. If it hasn’t worn off in 24 hours, we go to the library. Start researching. If nothing comes up then, we can, I don’t know, fucking curl up in a ball and die or something.”

All of Margo’s annoyance at Eliot’s behavior lately surges inside of her. The eye roll she gives extends outwards with the body she’s in. That is, her head and shoulders roll with her.  

“ _ You’d  _ like that, wouldn’t you?” She accuses. She’s had enough of his self-destructive  _ bullshit _ lately, and feels no shame in pointing it out.

“What is that supposed to mean.” Eliot’s posture in her body is stiff, staring straight ahead. She turns,  _ really looks at him,  _ and sighs, all the fight suddenly out of her. She no longer feels like trading barbs with Eliot about the issue, and clearly neither does he. She can recognize the heavy weight of defeat and sadness on her own damn face, thank you very much. 

“Nothing, never mind,” She mutters, and makes her way to Eliot’s closet. “I have Pilates this morning, Eliot, so you better get going because if you make my spectacular ass miss even one  _ second  _ of leg kicks, I’ll never forgive you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Eliot doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. He hasn’t offended anyone, really, or kicked anyone’s puppy, or been unnecessarily rude to any evil hags seeking refuge. He hasn’t done any risky spells, hasn’t been part of any rituals, hasn’t yelled at Margo in a Chinese restaurant after eating a fortune cookie. In fact, he was having what was probably the best night he’s had in  _ weeks  _ last night and was really looking forward to this morning but of course, because this is his life, that was ruined for him, too. His thoughts, against his will, stray to Quentin. Honestly, he knows he and Margo could probably trust Quentin to help them with the ridiculous situation they’ve found themselves in, but his  _ pride  _ is getting in the way.

There’s also the fact that they never really  _ talked  _ about any of the drunken confessions they said to each other last night before jumping into bed together ( _ again _ , his brain supplies helpfully) and so he’s really trying to avoid that. Eliot doesn’t normally bear his soul to high strung first years and then fuck them semi-tenderly for the rest of the night. Eliot doesn’t normally bear his soul,  _ period.  _ God, what was he thinking? It’s like they were both reenacting the worst part of the Secrets Trials last night, and it somehow made them horny. He cringes a little, just thinking about how vulnerable he had allowed himself to get in front of Quentin. 

So. He’s really trying to avoid Quentin right now. Which is of course, why, when he walks into the cottage after getting his ass kicked at Margo’s fucking Pilates class, that he finds Quentin sitting in the common room. Fuck. He’s too sweaty for this.

But. Look. Eliot realizes that avoiding Quentin is pointless in Margo’s body because Quentin has no idea that Eliot is trapped in Margo’s body and therefore would have no reason to believe that he isn’t Margo. Meaning, that there is no reason to avoid Quentin as Margo because Margo isn’t the one that confessed to Quentin how fucked up he’s been the last month, listened to Quentin and comforted him as Quentin told  _ him  _ how fucked up  _ he’s  _ been the last month, and then proceeded to rail him for the rest of the night, effectively throwing their whole friendship out the window. And knowing Q, he has  _ feelings to talk about,  _ and  _ things he wants to say,  _ and he just, can’t. With that. Right now. And looking at Q, now, just makes him want to think about all these feelings and seriously consider their actions last night and possibly even their  _ future. Together.  _ And Eliot is not relationship material, or, at least, he’ll keep on telling himself that he’s not relationship material until his fucking heart believes it. 

So. Eliot as Margo quickly makes for the stairs. He’s even almost up them when-

“Oh, hey, wait, Margo.”

Shit.

Fuck.

He takes a breath. He pivots on the stairs to face Quentin and channels his inner Margo. Hand on the hip, lips pursed, eyes wide. He’s got this, truly, he can Bambi his way out of any situation.

“Hey, Q. Can this wait? I have an appointment with my shower head. I had good dreams last night, a long workout this morning, you know how that goes.” He smirks, winks, and turns back around to continue his escape as Q turns a delightful shade of red. 

“Actually I-” Jesus Christ. “I just, I wanted to-” Quentin sighs, and leans against the bannister. “I know we don’t- remember much. About. That night, with the bottles? But. I-I do remember a little about the talk we were having before… well, Before.”  

At this point, Eliot feels his head going through the rush it goes through when he learns a particular bit of information in his life that he  _ completely _ one hundred percent was not expecting. Quentin, however, seems to still be talking.

“And I wanted to let you know that, Eliot’s going to be okay. At least, I think he is.” Quentin must see some sort of expression on his face, or Margo’s face, or whateverthefuck, because he blows out a breath as if to refocus his thoughts. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to worry so much anymore. You know, about Eliot.”

It’s almost as if Eliot’s entire worldview shifts, a little to the left. Margo was worried about him? Margo was talking to Quentin before The Incident, and she was talking to him about how worried she had been for him? And now, here Q was, reassuring Margo about a moment when  _ she  _ had been most vulnerable, a moment that had apparently been all about Eliot. Like, he knows rationally that they had all been coming down from some crazy magical residue, and also were seriously, wildly drunk but, well, shit. No wonder they had all fucked.

Eliot thinks back to last night, with Quentin, and fleetingly wonders if the emotional aftermath of soul-bearing talks just did it for him.

But, wait. More than that. Q’s looking at him, obviously waiting for him to respond, and Eliot’s just standing there  _ also _ realizing that in his grief about Mike, he’s been the World’s Biggest Asshole ™  to the first person in his life that was willing to look at him for what he wanted to be and accept it with everything she had to offer in return.

Eliot reaches out and places his hand gently on top of Quentin’s, where it rests upon the bannister. He can’t help but notice how delicate Margo’s thin, brown hand looks as it lays atop of Quentin’s strong fingers. He feels the strongest surge of affection, for the both of them, in that moment. It’s also the strangest way he’s ever felt an emotion, given the situation.

“Thank you, Q.” Eliot smiles, gently, “For telling me this. It means a lot.”

Quentin looks formidable, in the soft light of the cottage. He’s wearing jeans and an auburn sweater that probably feels as soft as it looks. Eliot wants to touch him. But it’s not just his clothes - it’s his face, his stance, his everything. Eliot still feels flayed by their conversation last night, laid bare, as if he’s curled up at the bottom of a hole, entirely naked, with Quentin peering down at him.

But here, now, Q stands strong in contrast, brave, as if his interactions with Eliot in the last 24 hours strengthened him, or maybe finally allowed him some relief. Q flips his hand over to squeeze Margo’s tiny fingers, lets go, nods at him one final time, and then walks away. He even manages not to trip too obviously on the rug under the stares as he exits. Eliot laughs softly to himself.

Maybe this whole Freaky Friday situation with Margo isn’t so bad after all. He and Margo were still going to kill the motherfucker that did this to them because  _ what the fuck, non-consensual body swapping was not cool,  _ but it could’ve been worse. After all, he could’ve swapped bodies with  _ Todd. _

 

* * *

Honestly, Margo was enjoying herself. First of all, she was  _ tall as fuck.  _ Second of all, Eliot’s clothes were a  _ dream  _ to wear. And finally, she had found the solution to all their problems, because she was exactly  _ that bitch.  _ While Eliot was off at Pilates making sure her ass stayed Victoria’s Secret ready, Margo was following a hunch. And that hunch was named Josh Hoberman.

She finds him vaping in a secluded corner of the library, balancing on the back legs of his chair as he blows smoke rings in the air. Margo narrows her eyes and walks over in three purposeful strides. She slams her hands onto the table in front of him and looms over with all of the height and presence Eliot’s height has to offer her.

Josh visibly startles, the front legs of his chair loudly thudding back against the library floor.

“ _ Eliot!”  _ He coughs, smoke escaping from his nose, “Whoa, man! What’s up, dude, what’s with the face?”

“Hoberman,” She smiles, “Do you know what a mustard seed is?”

“Uh, like, from the plant?”

“Yes,” She sighs, as if in relief, a wide smile still in place, “The  _ plant,  _ Hoberman. You see, mustard seed comes from mustard  _ plant,  _ and you can grind it up to make a variety of spices. Quite tasty, really.” Margo pulls the chair opposite Josh out far enough so she can sit on it, elevating her feet onto the table and leaning back. “Do you know what else mustard seed is called, Hoberman?”

“Uh-,” Josh’s eyes are blinking rapidly, “Am I in trouble-?”

“It’s also called eye of newt, Hoberman.” She pauses, her hand raised in front of her to accentuate the fucking bomb she just dropped, but apparently Josh isn’t as smart as she thought because he says,

“Sorry, dude, I’m still not really following where you’re going with all of this. You want me to make you something with mustard seed, I gotchu, bro, all you had to do was ask-”

“Jesus Christ, Hoberman.” Margo slams her feet down, and splays her hands on the table, leaning forward, “Three nights ago you made what you called your world renowned magical hallucinogenic hot wings, spicy enough to give, what you called, the trip of our lives.”

She realizes that her voice is getting louder, and manages to bring it down to a harsh whisper.

“What you didn’t realize, you  _ idiot,  _ is that you fucked up the ingredients in the spell because your moronic brain-”

“Okay, whoa, what’s with all the name calling? I thought we were bros!”

But Margo’s on a roll and she just talks over him, “-didn’t realize that eye of newt is really just goddamn mustard seed, like,  _ jesus  _ Hoberman, we go to magical fucking grad school, have you never been to class? And  _ now,  _ three days  _ later,  _ Eliot and I are having the trip of our lives because  _ we’re in each other’s bodies. _ ”

Margo leans back, satisfied, and patiently waits for Josh to finish his gaping fish impression, all the while checking her cuticles.

“Wait,  _ Margo?”  _ Josh snaps his jaw shut, peering at her, before finally taking in her ‘behold, the magical consequences of your fuck up, the one and only’ expression. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” Margo snarks, “Oh, shit. As in,  _ Oh shit, I better find the solution to the problem I created before the whole school finds out about my monthly subscription to Howling At The Moon Magazine.” _

“How do you-!” Josh’s eyes really couldn’t get any wider, could they?  _ “How do you know about that?” _ He hisses, before immediately starting to plead, “Wait, Margo, I didn’t mean to- I didn’t know! It’s not my fault,  _ don’t tell anyone-” _

“Chop, chop, Hoberman!” She smiles, getting up from the chair and clapping her hands, “Time’s a-wastin’! Better hurry up and have the cure to this  _ affliction  _ by  _ tonight  _ or everyone will know about your whole, you know, situation.” She brings her hands up to imitate paws, before laughing to herself and turning to walk away. Josh groans, head in his hands and vape forgotten on the table.

“Oh, and make sure the spell is done  _ right,  _ this time. Or you’ll have to worry about a lot more than people finding out about your Teen Wolf-ass STD.”

Margo blows a kiss, and walks away.

 

* * *

“ _ Bitch,  _ you’re gonna be  _ so  _ happy with what I have to tell you,” Margo announces loudly as she strides into the cottage, the door slamming behind her, “You’re gonna  _ die,  _ you’re literally gonna wanna suck my  _ dick.” _

Her hands are on her hips and she’s grinning towards the general vicinity of the stairwell, waiting for Eliot to appear in her cute little body. She doesn’t really register much of anything else going on in the cottage until she hears an awkward little huff and turns to see Quentin sitting, contorted really, in the nook by the window with a book in his hands.

“Oh, hey Q,” She says, “Didn’t see you there.” His face seems to be turning a particular (or rather, delightful) shade of red.

“ _ Eliot.”  _ Her own voice comes sharply from the top of the staircase, “ _ What  _ are you doing?”

“El, you can come kiss my ass, because I literally solved all of our pro-”

“ _ Margo.  _ I mean-  _ Eliot. Stop talking.”  _ Eliot’s descended the stairs halfway, talking sharply through his teeth and cutting his eyes towards Quentin by the window. She looks over at him before looking back at Eliot and rolling her eyes.

“It’s just Quentin, what does it matter-” but Eliot’s already reaching up to put his palm over her mouth, and grabbing her wrist with  _ surprising strength,  _ damn, is this the pay off from her kickboxing classes? She has to renew her groupon.

Before she can complain, Eliot is dragging her up the stairs into his room and closing the door behind them. When he finally takes his palm off her mouth, she pretends to gag.

“ _ Ugh,  _ El, it still reeks of sex in here, you couldn’t open a window?”

“I thought we agreed this morning that we weren’t going to be telling anyone of our current and  _ embarrassing  _ situation.”

“Oh my  _ god,  _ it was just Quentin. He embarrasses himself in front of us practically on the daily, how could you ever feel any sort of shame in front of him now?”

“ _ Because.”  _ Eliot sighs, visibly frustrated, “He-”

“Is this about you two banging?” She can’t help but ask, a smirk already forming at the corners of her mouth.

“No, fuck. Margo. Not everything is about banging.” Eliot sits on the bed, “Look. I’m telling you that I don’t want anyone to know about this situation, it’s ridiculous. It’s all ridiculous. I couldn’t even have  _ one fucking night _ \- whatever.” Eliot looks at her with an expression that she had never witnessed on her own face, one that only means bad news. “I just want us to act normal until this is all over and then we can go back to passive aggressively ignoring each other like we were doing before, ok?”

Wow, okay.  _ Tell me how you really feel, Eliot. _

But Margo isn’t the type of bitch to take this shit lying down. So she says, “We were only ignoring each other because you won’t  _ talk to me _ and let me in on what the fuck is going on with you.” Eliot shakes his head, scoffs.

“Maybe because all you do is act like you need to  _ fix me _ , Margo, maybe this is something I had to handle by myself, and not with you, for fucking once!”

So. Here’s the thing. She and Eliot have been ridiculously close since the moment they met. They did the Secrets Trails together, they know everything about each other. At her most vulnerable, Margo confessed to him that what she feared most about the extravagant life they had made for themselves at Brakebills is that one day Eliot would just, tire of her. He hangs out with her every day, he talks to her every day, there has to be a moment when he’s just sick of her, right? Like, there’s only so much to fucking talk about. There’s only so many times they can get fucked up together, before it becomes just like all those other times with all those other people. Basically, her biggest fear is that he’ll inexplicably move on and find another best friend. And she told him this, only once. So for Eliot to sit there and throw back Margo’s scarily intense dependence of him in her face, something he  _ knows  _ she has doubts about, is a low fucking blow.

Margo leans back against the door behind her, feeling simultaneously full of emotion and strangely hollow at the same time.

“If that’s how you really feel, Eliot.” Her voice feels like steel, and it’s really the only thing she can hold onto right now. “Then we’ll act fucking normal.”

Eliot nods at her, once, as if they’re in agreement.  _ Fucking asshole _ . Fine. If he wants to hit at vulnerable spots, then two can play at that game. Margo hates being one-upped in the asshole department, and she knows all of Eliot’s vulnerable spots better than anyone else.

"So, normally,” she says, standing up straight and opening the door, her head turned back to look at Eliot sitting on his bed, “you’d be talking to Q, right? After the epically romantic coupling you had last night? I can do that for you, then, right? Is that  _ normal  _ enough for you?”

She basks in the utter  _ shock  _ on Eliot’s face when he realizes what she’s implying before she slams the door in his face, quickly performing a  _ tut  _ with her fingers, effectively and magically sealing him in his room.

 

* * *

Eliot is going to kill her. He’s going to- he doesn’t know what he’s going to do because his first priority is actually getting out of this fucking room. He doesn’t even want to  _ imagine  _ what she could be saying to Q right now, but knowing Margo’s filfty fucking mind, it will not be anything good. Oh, and also, he managed to hurt her feelings  _ and  _ piss her the fuck off. Where were all those warm fuzzy feelings he was having about Margo just a couple hours ago? Why did he have to open his stupid mouth and ruin everything,  _ like always?  _ And now Margo was going to go downstairs and ruin whatever he has going on with Quentin.

Which. Not like, he cares, about what he has or doesn’t have with Quentin. Or whatever. But. He would like to? Maybe?

Jesus, now he’s starting to  _ think  _ like the guy. Okay. Focus. Priorities. He takes a breath. He needs to get out of this fucking room. Magic is not the answer, because undoing that locking charm is particularly nasty work and that’s exactly why Margo cast it in the first place, the little shit. So, the door is out of the question, which only leaves- his eyes cut across the room, to the open window. He walks over, peering outside and eyeing how far the drop is. If he was in his own body, he could somehow telekinetically get himself down there, easy, but he’s not, because his life is one giant joke after another.

He groans, angrily beginning to shove his body through the open window and angrily berating himself for always going for the throat. Why did he have to bring up Margo’s biggest and only insecurity when it came to their friendship? Why couldn’t he tell her, really tell her, what he’s been going through the last couple of weeks? Why couldn’t he open up about his night with Q and how that had seemed to change something in him? And then he would’ve told her all the juicy details and they would’ve giggled like schoolgirls, probably drunk on some good wine, and it all would’ve been fine. He wouldn’t be in this current situation, straddling the fucking windowsill, vaguely hoping he doesn’t break one of Margo’s legs.

Oh, well. She fucking started it. He jumps.

 

* * *

When Eliot dramatically bursts through the front door of the cottage, the first thing he sees is that Margo has managed to somehow corner Quentin at the edge of the sofa. She’s practically on top of him, caging him in with her body. Her eyes automatically flicker up to him, and she has the audacity to wink at him as she leans close to whisper something in Quentin’s ear.

Abandoning the open front door, Eliot grabs Margo by the back of  _ his favorite  _ vest and bodily hauls her from where she’d arranged his body on top of Quentin. Then, before she can say something unbelievably snarky, he punches her hard on her arm.

“ _ Ow!”  _ Satisfied, Eliot crosses his arms as Margo gasps and clutches her arm. “What the  _ fuck  _ is your problem!”

Eliot scoffs, as Quentin gapes between the two of them, still splayed on the couch after being  _ accosted  _ by  _ Margo  _ saying god knows what.

“You know exactly what my problem is, you-”

He always forgets how quickly Margo recovers, as she’s already getting into position to properly sass him.

“Why, _Margo_ , are you  _ jealous  _ of my innocent canoodling with our little Q?” She makes his mouth do a pretty impressive pout,  one he’ll have to practice in the mirror once they get their bodies back. But for now, he resists the urge to punch her again and instead steps right up to her, tilting his head up and pointing his finger in her face.

“Just fucking stay away from him, Margo, I swear to  _ god.” _

On the couch, Quentin splutters. “Are you guys fighting? Are you- are you fighting over  _ me? _ ” He twists his body to look around, searching for anyone else in the vicinity. “Are you guys fucking with me right now?”

In his body, Margo rolls her eyes, “ _ God,  _ not everything is about you, Quentin.” She scoffs again.

Eliot pushes her square in the chest, with a little more force than he thought Margo possessed.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” he says.

“Stop  _ pushing  _ me,” Margo replies, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him back.

“Literally, what the hell is going on?” Quentin says, sounding increasingly worried.

Eliot is literally about to start a goddamn slap fight with Margo when Josh Hoberman, of all people, walks through the door.

“Who wants magical healing mushroooooms?” He sing-songs, carrying a plastic baggie of mushrooms in one hand, and pointing at it with the other. He looks at Quentin on the couch and says, “None for you, dude, these are for Margo and Eliot only.”

Quentin throws his hands up in exasperation, leaning back on the couch as if in defeat. Eliot resists the strong (too strong, way too strong) urge to comfort him in lieu of turning to Josh with the most incredulous look he knows Margo’s face can muster.

“What the  _ fuck  _ do you want, Josh?”

Meanwhile, Margo’s looking at her watch. “Okay, Hoberman, good on you, you did it in under two hours. Your secret is safe with me.” She snatches the baggie out of his hand and smiles at him, all teeth.

Hoberman sighs in relief, pressing his palms together as if he’s praying and bowing,  _ actually bowing _ , to Margo. “Thanks, queen. FYI, though, while also helping you get back into your own bodies, those mushrooms will get you high as fuck. So. You know. Drink responsibly, or whatever.” He throws up a peace sign before walking out, the front door closing securely behind him.

There’s a beat of silence, before:

“You guys have been in each other’s bodies?” Quentin asks. Eliot turns to look at him, and his face is losing color by the second, holy shit. “Like, for how long?”

The urge to comfort is too damn strong this time, and Eliot quickly sits down next to Q on the couch, grabbing onto his knee with one hand before he can even think about it and letting his other one gently rest on his back.

“Just since this morning,” Eliot says, “We… woke up in each other’s bodies this morning.”

Margo sighs before sitting on Quentin’s other side. She says, “Sorry we didn’t tell you. Everything happened all at once.”

“So…” Quentin says, “Margo… you were there this morning? And Eliot…  _ you  _ were there this morning, on the staircase?  And Margo, that was you just now, when you said-” And at this, Quentin suddenly regains all the color he had just lost, turning a lovely shade of red that Eliot is  _ way  _ too into.

“Uh, yeah.” She winks, laughing a little, before suddenly sobering and ducking her head to try to catch Q’s eyes. “But. I was just messing with Eliot. He’s been an asshole lately, you know.” She shrugs, comically widening her eyes as she does so. Eliot would punch her again, if not for the fact that he doesn’t want to bruise up his own body. He rolls his eyes and turns to face Q fully.

“Look, Quentin,” Eliot says, “I know this has been probably the most confusing day for you, but Margo and I need to get high as fuck right now on these mushrooms so we can get back into our proper bodies and then I can explain everything and take you out? Maybe?”

And fucking Quentin, adorable Quentin, just smiles at him tentatively and says, “Uh, okay.”

 

* * *

 

Eliot is high as  _ balls.  _ He’s high as balls. He’s so high, his balls are high and he isn’t even in possession of his balls right now. He laughs, turning his face so it can rub against the delicious softness that is Margo’s comforter. They’re both sprawled on her bed, on their backs, post-mushroom consumption. Before the high had hit, they had been kind of laying there in stubborn silence, but now Eliot can’t stop giggling.

Margo turns to look at him in his giggling, and starts to smile herself.

“What is it?” she asks, laughing.

“I just,” Eliot has to bring his hands up to his face to try to control the laughter, “Some story-time body swap shit would happen to us while we’re having our first fight.” He laughs a little harder, shaking his head and staring at the ceiling.

“We’re having our first fight?” Margo sarcastically asks in between giggles, “I thought we were  _ passive aggressively ignoring _ each other?” She manages to do an impression of how  _ he  _ looked saying that in  _ her  _ body and that just makes both of them laugh harder.

“Like, we really could’ve been fucking with people. Or like, fucking people. I don’t fucking know, playing extreme dress up in each other’s closets. We could’ve made the most of this, but instead,” Eliot waves his hand above him, inexplicably dissolving into quiet laughter before finishing his sentence, “Instead all we did was manage to freak Q out.”

Margo snorts, curling her whole body inward and holding onto her abdomen as she laughs, “Did you see his  _ face _ -”

“I  _ know,  _ what did you say to him-”

“Jeez, nothing too bad, just that he looked really fucking soft in that sweater and that made me want to-”

“ _ Fuck, Margo,”  _  Eliot laughs, “What the hell?”

“That’s as far as I got!” She screeches, “Then you walked in looking like you fought the ground and the ground won.”

“That’s because I had to  _ jump out the window,  _ you  _ asshole.” _

That sets them off again, laughing and laughing. Margo’s managed to curl his body into a ball of giggles now, laying on her side to face him and actually wiping tears from her eyes.

He feels like he’s floating while also standing still. He feels like he can taste colors, but he can only smack his lips and look at his best friend wearing his face and his body, and suddenly he remembers the surge of affection he felt for Margo when he was standing on the staircase with Quentin.

They manage to calm down after what is hopefully only a few minutes, but he doesn’t know because his sense of time is majorly fucked up right now. Either way, they calm down.

Eliot says, “I love you, bitch.”

“ _ El.  _ I’m-” Margo clears her throat, and props herself up on one arm, “I’m sorry. For everything you’ve been going through. I don’t mean to be so-”

“Bambi. You don’t need to apologize. You were right. I’ve been a fucking asshole. The World’s Biggest Asshole, if you will. I was so caught up in my personal self-destruction parade that I didn’t think you would even care.” He sighs, “I’m sorry. I guess I was just scared of… of everything that I was feeling. I didn’t want you to know what a fuck-up I was. I didn’t know how to handle it. And I didn’t even know how to approach it with you because I felt like the second I started to talk about it I would just-” Words failing him, he mimics an explosion with his hands, sound effects and all.

Very quietly he says, “You’re the first person to ever really know me.”

There are a lot of things left unsaid between them, obviously, but she’s his Margo, and she understands, because she lifts a hand to cup the side of his face.

“Eliot. You know  _ me, _ ” she says, “And you know I’m always going to be here, no matter what.”

Eliot’s face is wet. He’s leaking, jesus, from his  _ eyes?  _ His eyes are leaking? He wipes them hastily and cups Margo’s entire face into his hands, into  _ her  _ hands. Now, he’s looking at how her delicate fingers look cupped around his own face. He’s high as  _ balls,  _ but he says, “I know, and I will always love you for that.”

Margo, being Margo, immediately rolls her eyes.

“We’re so fucking annoying,” she says, laughing while wiping her own eyes, “And this is so fucking trippy. I can’t wait to wake up tomorrow and be back in my own body.”

“Yeah,” Eliot sighs. They let go of each other’s faces and lie back once more on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Eliot tries to pretend that the patterns on the ceiling aren’t reenacting Shakespeare’s  _ Hamlet  _ and turns his head to look at Margo. Out of everyone in the world to swap bodies with, he’s really glad it was her.

“So,” he clears his throat, “Q really did look good in that sweater, huh?”

Margo laughs, scoffs, “Fucking  _ yeah,  _ Eliot, I have  _ eyes _ .”

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Then Eliot, back in his own body, found Quentin the next morning, cooked him an amazing breakfast, and tenderly confessed his real feelings (again) before taking him upstairs and railing him senseless. Or, I mean, they railed each other senseless. You get the picture. 
> 
> :)


End file.
